


Cuffs

by Nemesis (ThetaSigma)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 04:25:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/pseuds/Nemesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the get_house_laid prompt 292. House/Wilson or Chase or OC -- Most of the PPTH folk assume House is dominant (or just domineering), but his partner knows (or finds out) otherwise. Extra points for including Knows-More-About-BDSM-Than-He-Lets-On!Chase, even if he's not House's partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cuffs

House drummed his fingers on the table, trying to figure out what to do with himself. He was _bored_. He had beat all his GameBoy games and wasn’t up for trying to improve his high scores yet. He had spent hours surfing the internet until he felt like his brain was melting and leaking out his ears (he started to wonder if this was medically possible). He had researched cool, almost entirely unheard of medical disorders until he started feeling like he might actually have some of them (he told the psychoanalyst in his head to go suck an egg). 

Cuddy was on the warpath, and anyway, House didn’t actively seek out her company. Unless he was angry at her. Which he wasn’t. 

Wilson had holed himself up in his office, claiming paperwork. Damn. House could think of quite a few things he and Wilson could do that would make him less bored. He sighed heavily. It was a no go; Wilson was very firm on the “no office nookie” point. Even when he _didn’t_ have paperwork.

He had no cases. Usually he welcomed a break from whining patients and their even more aggravating families, but not when he was this _bored_. 

He tapped his cane against the floor. Maybe he should actually get some of his clinic hours out of the way. Cuddy couldn’t bother him later for them, he might find an interesting case, he was bored no matter what, so he might as well be bored looking for a case, _and_ it had the added advantage of screwing with everyone’s mind. 

After all, House _never_ voluntarily went to the Clinic.

House stood up and limped to the elevator. “Let’s party!” 

In the elevator, it occurred to him to scare people even more. He smiled broadly, a joyous, “I’m honestly very happy to see you today” smile. Hm… maybe a bit cynical. Or maybe he should save the smile for later. Yes, later. He’d whistle first.

He stepped out of the elevator cheerfully whistling “What A Wonderful World.” 

The nurses stared at him as though they were hallucinating. 

“Good afternoon!” he greeted pleasantly, hiding his smirk at their gobsmacked faces. Oh, yes, this was _definitely_ worth putting up with cases of the sniffles for a few hours. “Decided to swing by and offer a hand for a couple of hours. Those running noses aren’t gonna just start walking by themselves.”

A few people tried to speak and failed entirely. House picked up a file, glanced at the name, and called out, “Paula Brody?”

A woman in her thirties stood up and walked over to him. 

As House was shutting the door to Exam Room 1, he noticed Nurse Brenda trying to close her mouth. He suppressed a chuckle.

Oh, yes. He had been _bored_. 

***

Cuddy walked over to Brenda. “Was that… my eyes are failing, I swear. Did Dr. House just _smile_ at a patient?”

“He was whistling when he walked in,” Brenda whispered. “And then he offered… _offered_ to lend a hand for a couple of hours.”

Cuddy blinked a few times. “Offered? By _himself_? What is he playing at?”

***

“So, Mrs. Brody, what is your problem today?” House asked in his best genial-doctor tone. It still sounded a little impatient to him, but the woman wasn’t hissing yet, so he was probably doing just fine with this.

He wondered how long it was before one of the nurses – or better yet, Cuddy – lost it and asked him who he was and what the hell did he do with Greg House.

“Well, lately, I’ve been feeling very tired a lot. Like… like I haven’t been getting enough sleep. And I have these headaches all the time. And I feel sorta like I’m getting sick. But I never have a fever or _anything_.”

“Right.” House decided that it was definitely a bad idea keeping up the genial-doctor act while actually _with_ a patient. He snapped the chart shut. “How many hours of sleep do you get a night?”

“Oh… I don’t know. Hm…” 

House tapped his cane against the ground while waiting for the woman to figure it out. “On average,” he added after a moment.

“Oh! Er, like three or four.”

House sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well then. The reason you are feeling tired is because you aren’t getting enough sleep. The headaches are for the same reason.”

“But, doctor, what should I do? Coffee just doesn’t help, and I hate cola and Red Bull.”

“My advice would be to get some sleep. Radical new technology, don’t you think?” House answered. He stood and left. 

***

Unfortunately, the amusement of shocking all the nurses (and apparently, Cuddy too) wore off by the fifth idiot patient.

He was currently with the twelfth.

“So, Mrs. Redding, what brings you here today?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his Vicodin, popping one.

“Well, I was out in my tool shed, carving a design into a piece of wood. It’s sorta a hobby of mine. The tool I was using slipped and I gouged out some of the flesh in my arm. The cut was about three inches long.”

“Okay.” House sighed heavily. “The ER would be the place to go next time, not a walk-in clinic where you have to wait. How much are you bleeding right now?” He picked up his pen and prepared to write down the answer.

“Oh, I’m not bleeding. I had some needle and sorta thick thread at home, and I stitched myself up. I kept the stitches fairly small.”

House dropped the pen and gaped at the patient. “You _what_?”

“I stitched myself up. I mean, it’s just needle and a thread, right? And I figured it wasn’t worth driving all the way to the hospital just for some anesthetic.”

“So why are you here now then?”

“It’s red and swollen and itchy and really hurts.” She showed House, who blinked. The thread was a fuzzy, alternating blue-pink. And the stitches were clumsily done.

“Did you _sterilize_ the needle?”

“Did I what?”

House hung his head, deciding whether he should cry from frustration or laugh hysterically. “Okay. Sterilize. Make sure that the needle’s clean.”

“How would I do that?”

“Flame, rubbing alcohol, boiling it in some water. Did you clean the wound at all?”

“No. What’s wrong with me?”

“Well, I have a hunch, but I’d have to ask a neurologist to be sure. He could probably come up with a decent name for it. I’m calling it ‘too stupid to live’ syndrome.”

Mrs. Redding gaped at House. “What?!”

“They have ERs for this! They stitch you up and then your arm doesn’t swell and itch. What on earth possessed you to do this yourself? Did you watch an interesting program about doctors on TV and figure it didn’t look that hard? Or did you take a Home Ec class in high school and figured that you sorta remembered how sewing works and you’re sure skin is the same as cotton?”

The woman seemed close to tears.

“Of course it’s swollen if you didn’t sterilize the needle or clean the wound! It’s infected. Congratulations, you get yourself a two week regimen of antibiotics with a check-in next week.” House scribbled out a prescription and handed it to the woman. “And next time you do something this incredibly stupid, go straight to the ER.”

The woman left in a huff, slamming the door shut behind her. 

The door banged open seconds later. “House, get out of here,” Cuddy snarled. “Go! I don’t even want to talk to you right now about this.”

Well, he’d done an hour and a half. Anything to fill up time. 

***

He made his way back to his office. The ducklings were there, waiting for him.

“Hiding from Cuddy again?” Foreman asked, barely glancing at him.

“Nope, I went and volunteered to help in the Clinic. They’re so understaffed there. It’s the _least_ I can do, if I don’t have a case.”

The ducklings stared at him. Finally Foreman smiled. “Good one.”

“What? You don’t believe me? I was down there all afternoon, just reveling in the joy of helping others. So what? Do we have a case?”

“Reveling in the joy of helping others? You hate the Clinic.”

“If you can’t figure it out yourselves, why in the world did I hire you? I forget: did I ask already if we have a case?”

“26-year-old female, came in with a DVT. No trauma and she doesn’t lead a sedentary lifestyle.”

House hooked his cane over the whiteboard. “Well. It’s something, at least.” He wrote the woman’s symptoms out clearly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flurry of white heading angrily towards his office. He turned to the ducklings and said, “Go do the usual battery of blood tests, including clotting studies and the whole shebang.”

They were leaving just as Wilson stormed in. Wilson waited until they had rounded the corner, then turned to House. “I can’t believe you did that!”

House grabbed his cane. “I don’t know which _that_ you’re referring to!”

“You made a patient cry!”

House considered this for a few moments. “And why does this surprise you?”

Upon reflection, perhaps that wasn’t the best thing to say. Wilson was already looking as though he would cheerfully kill House and prop him up in the Clinic.

Wilson grabbed the front of House’s jacket and brought his face very close to House’s. He was about to yell when he realized House had gone from sarcastic and somewhat attentive to glassy-eyed and flushed. A quick glance down confirmed that House was aroused by this.

Wilson’s anger left him suddenly. They had been together four… no, five months now. He had no cause to complain about either their sex life or their domestic life. But this… this was interesting. And new. Or, maybe just… hidden. But… different.

He’d always figured House for the dominant one. Even sleeping with him hadn’t changed his view of that. House liked to be in control. Liked to belittle people. Liked to know exactly what was going on and influence it. He pushed people and sometimes they pushed back.

Well. Apparently, House _didn’t_ like being in control, at least, not all the time. Wilson was suddenly incredibly turned on by the idea of dominating House. Of pushing him down, face first onto the bed, of being a little rough. Tying him up. 

Wilson’s mouth moved close to House’s ear. “We’ll be leaving at six. Until then, you will not seek me out. You will treat your patient and focus on that only. If you’re waiting for tests, you read, use your computer, or play with your GameBoy. Is that clear?”

“Two issues,” House answered distractedly, still with the glazed look in his eye. Wilson almost groaned. House’s mind was far too sharp not to point out something, even when he was this aroused.

“Yes?” Wilson asked impatiently.

“One, I can’t leave at six if there’s anything seriously wrong with my patient.”

Wilson nodded. “Point. Number two?”

“If she has cancer, I have to seek you out.”

Wilson rolled his eyes. Trust House to realize all these flaws, all the contingencies in which he might have to break the rules. 

And actually, it was completely unlike House to point it out. House usually kept this kind of thing to himself, reveling in the idea that he knew something no one else did, using it to his advantage later on. 

“Don’t trust your fellows?”

“Could always send Foreman,” House agreed readily enough. “Then again, could leave at six and leave Foreman in charge. I’m sure he’s learned enough from me. Tried to lead a team at Mercy… Oh, wait, that fell through, didn’t it?”

“House, don’t be a bastard!”

House shut up immediately.

 _Cool_ , Wilson thought. A way to control House. Just what he needed.

***

“Strip. Lie down on the bed, your arms above your head. Don’t talk, don’t move, don’t do anything unless I allow it. Understood?”

House nodded and moved to obey. Wilson watched him with an odd look. This was _beyond_ strange. House was taking _orders_ from him without a sarcastic remark, without a questioning glance, without anything. He was actually obeying them.

Wilson rummaged through his closet for some old ties. He looked at some of the more monstrously ugly ones. Ones that he would never wear again.

House was lying on the bed, naked and absolutely silent. Wilson glanced at him. House wasn’t even moving, beyond shifting his bad leg about into a more comfortable position. Wilson overlooked that. He knew how much it would hurt House not to be able to move his leg if it spasmed. Physically and emotionally. It would call attention to his pain.

Wilson never wanted to call attention to House’s pain. Not if that look appeared on House’s face. 

He finally picked out two ties and walked over to House. House’s eyes followed his movement and his bad leg was still shifting, but other than that, still no movement. And House wasn’t saying anything either.

This was almost freaking Wilson out. The depth of trust, the vulnerability lying before him. There was something in him that was thrilled, aroused beyond belief by controlling House. 

He tied House’s wrists to the bedposts with his ties, letting his own tie trail over House’s face. House didn’t even twitch.

Unfuckingbelievable. 

Wilson stepped back, slowly undoing his tie. He tugged at the knot to loosen the tie, then pulled out the knot entirely, the two ends hanging down from his neck. He grabbed the wider end and pulled, torturously slow, pulling endlessly until he had the entire length of silk in his hand. He laid it over the back of a chair, hiding a smile at the heat in House’s eyes. House’s tongue darted out and licked his lips.

Wilson’s fingers moved to his buttons, slipping each one out unhurriedly, trailing his fingers down to the next button, parting the shirt just a little with each consecutive button. He slid the shirt down his arms and let it fall to the floor.

House’s arms were beginning to twitch; little, aborted movements as he got more and more desperate.

Wilson unbuckled his belt and slid it free of his pants, dragging out the moment endlessly. He unzipped his pants and let them drop to the ground, puddling around his ankles.

He suddenly understood the Mirror Syndrome Guy’s reaction to him and House. Of course he was in control. House had _given_ him control years ago, even before their relationship had turned sexual.

The thought nearly made Wilson melt. House, trusting him that fully. Letting him past every defense.

Wilson pushed his boxers down and stepped out of both it and his pants. He stretched, showing himself off a bit, and House whimpered and tugged at the restraints.

Then he let out a hiss of pain.

Wilson immediately became worried, rushing to House’s side. “Are you okay?”

House shook his head slightly. “Wrists… really hurt,” he admitted. “And not the good sort of hurt.”

Wilson immediately kneeled on the bed and went to undo the knots. He found them too tight. “Shit! I can’t untie them. Greg, wait while I get some scissors. And don’t move, you’ll only make the knots tighter and hurt your wrists more.” He stood and left the room quickly.

House nodded and shifted on the bed, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his wrists. Wilson returned seconds later with a pair of medical scissors in his hands. 

“Good thing I chose ties I hate,” Wilson joked as he cut House free. House fell down onto the bed with a wince, rubbing at his wrists.

Wilson wrapped his arms around House. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. 

House kissed him. “Maybe it’s not something we can do.” His tone was filled with regret, and Wilson’s heart clenched at that. It was something House wanted, and he couldn’t give him it.

***

Wilson was sitting in House’s office. They weren’t saying anything, but they weren’t at odds either.

The door opened and Chase entered.

“You don’t work here anymore,” House pointed out.

Chase dropped a file on House’s desk. “Surgeon’s report. I know how much you hate reading them. Made it extra-long, too.”

House opened it and scowled. “Well, let’s see… Taub nearly screwed up the LP, didn’t he? He can read the damn surgeon’s report. Then again, Chase, you did use to work for me. Find anything interesting?”

“All in the report,” Chase smirked. “Don’t worry, I went into lots of detail.”

House groaned and rubbed absently at one of his bruised wrists. It was red, chafed, bruised, and _itched_.

Chase’s glance was immediately drawn to House’s wrists. House followed his gaze, scowled deeply, and tugged his sleeves down to cover it.

“Did you follow the two finger rule?” Chase asked.

House and Wilson gaped at him. “Did I do what?” House asked, unable to be sarcastic for once.

“The two finger rule. You should be able to slip two fingers in between the knot and your wrist, otherwise its too tight and you get… well, that.”

Before House could say anything and especially before he could do anything to stop him, Chase strode forward and grabbed House’s wrist, shoving his shirt sleeve up. “Didn’t use cuffs… well, duh, given the knot problem. I’m guessing rope or…”

House glanced at Wilson. More specifically, House glanced at Wilson’s tie and tried to force his blush away.

“Ties,” Chase finished. “Should’ve guessed Wilson was the one to tie you up. Did you two talk about this at all?” He let go of House’s arm and stepped back.

“Er…” Wilson stammered. He felt like the world had turned upside-down. It was almost like talking to House in one of his diagnostic moods, only that he could somewhat follow, given that he understood the medicine. This, though, was freaky.

“No,” Chase answered in lieu of House and Wilson. “Okay. You need to talk about what’s okay and what’s not before plunging into the whole BDSM part of the night. Please tell me you two at least had a safeword!”

Wilson blushed slightly. 

“You _need_ a safeword to make sure that it never gets out of control. Especially if struggling is part of the…”

“Struggling’s not something I can exactly do,” House pointed out. “Difficult with one bad leg that screams every time I make a sudden movement.”

“You need a safeword anyway. Something you wouldn’t usually scream. Did you do any research or did you just plunge right in?”

Wilson flushed bright red. Chase rolled his eyes. “Really. Research it. It makes it a whole lot better for you both. There are books on the subject. Not that difficult to get your hands on one. And get some decent restraints, if restraining is what you’re into. And _talk_ about it before you go tying him up again,” Chase added, looking piercingly at Wilson.

“You know way too much about this. I’m starting to think you knew Mistress Annette a whole lot better than you let on.”

“Strangulation was never my thing,” Chase answered cryptically and left.

“Well,” House said brightly, turning to Wilson. “Clearly we need to get us some BDSM guides.”

Wilson moaned and threatened to melt into the chair. “House… that was _embarrassing_.”

“We didn’t say anything. Chase figured it out all by himself. Clever boy.”

“It was disturbing. Who the hell knew he knew that much about BDSM?”

“Well, he _did_ know about Annette being a dominatrix. Would _point_ to him knowing _something_ about BDSM.”

***

Cameron didn’t often enter the Diagnostics office. She saw Chase plenty, saw Foreman enough, and House came to bother her more than enough. And House’s fellows bugged her enough in the ER anyway.

Today, though, she really needed to find Wilson urgently, and he wasn’t in his office, the Oncology lounge, or the Clinic. Diagnostics was as good a place to search as any.

House was sitting at his desk, reading a book. Nothing surprising in that. He looked up. “ER too monotonous for you already?”

“No, I need Wilson on a consult. Thought he might be here.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not his babysitter.”

“Rather thought he was yours,” Cameron retorted, ready to leave.

House hmmed and said nothing, turning a page in his book. Cameron glanced at it, curious. House grinned evilly and held up the book so she could read the title better. She flushed a bright red. It was called _The Joys of Anal Sex and BDSM_.

“Nothing really new in here, although they have a fascinating section on how to double penetrate a guy,” House said nonchalantly.

Cameron turned and left, thinking it was just a joke. Exactly the kind of joke that House would like to play on somebody. Didn’t mean much.

“I found a better book,” Wilson announced as he entered the Diagnostics office. “Here.” He handed House another book. “Are you really reading these in your office, by the way?”

“Of course. I love scandalizing people.”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “I also found a site that sells bondage toys. We could take a look tonight and order some cuffs, like Chase suggested.”

***

The cuffs arrived in four weeks. They were fuzzy, soft, and strong. To piss House off, they were also pink. 

“We need to figure out a safeword first,” House reminded Wilson. “Something I wouldn’t usually say during sex.”

“Something you’d remember, too,” Wilson pointed out. 

“I read the book too. I’m going with lupus.”

“Lupus?” Wilson asked disbelievingly. 

House shrugged. “Why not? It’s not something I’d say during sex and I’ll have a ton of fun watching you try not to grin every time one of my fellows says it _might_ be lupus.”

“Strip and get on the bed,” Wilson ordered, shaking his head slightly. “Lupus!” he muttered, still shocked.

House grinned lasciviously and stripped, getting on the bed and putting his arms above his head.

Wilson smiled and leaned over, cuffing House to the headboard. He leaned down and kissed House. He pulled back and House raised his head, trying to follow Wilson’s lips with his own.

Wilson lowered his head again, this time kissing House’s neck. House moaned and tilted his head backward, giving Wilson more access. Wilson straightened again and stripped quickly.

House spread his legs, shifting his right until he found a comfortable position for it. Wilson settled in between House’s legs, making sure to stay clear of the bad one.

He slid his lips across House’s chest, latching onto a nipple and biting lightly. His mouth curved into a smile when House moaned and tugged at his restraints.

“Does it hurt when you do that?” Wilson asked, lifting his head up.

House shook his head. “Soft. Doesn’t hurt. Would not hurt even more if you went back to… _oooh_.” Wilson had taken the hard nub back in his mouth, laved it with his tongue, teased it with his teeth, sucked hard. He made the impossibly long trip across House’s chest to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment as the first. 

He looked up to watch House writhe. Wilson’s eyes glazed over at the sight of House’s arms, tugging slightly, his muscles bulging. He crawled upwards, pressing their chests together, and bit House’s bicep.

House arched his back, panting and begging. Wilson bit it again and pressed his cock against House’s, who bucked against him. 

Wilson began suckling at House’s bicep, amazed at how desperate it made House. He was bucking and tugging and panting and moaning and begging begging begging as Wilson bit and nipped at House’s bicep and slid his erection against House’s.

House hooked his good leg over Wilson’s right, using his foot against the back of Wilson’s thigh to push him closer. 

Wilson’s lips moved higher up, biting all the way. 

House bucked against him and came suddenly, warm come flooding the space between their bodies.

“Wanna suck you off,” House panted once he’d returned to his senses.

Wilson moaned and slithered up House’s body. He slid into House’s mouth, making sure to keep his weight on his knees and not on House’s chest. House sucked hard, knowing that Wilson was close already. His tongue swirled over the head repeatedly. Wilson pressed in closer, feeling House’s throat ripple around the head of his cock. House hummed something, something that sounded suspiciously like “I Feel Pretty,” but Wilson couldn’t be quite sure, not when he was arching his back and moaning loud enough to override the sounds of humming and coming down House’s throat.

He slid free, undid the cuffs, and laid down properly. House smiled slightly and pulled Wilson closer, pressing a kiss to his neck. 

“Better this time?” Wilson managed to ask.

“Lots,” House answered, kissing him briefly. “You’re still getting the warm towel, though, Dr. Two-Good-Legs.”

Wilson groaned and stood. He wetted and wrung out the towel, then returned to the bedroom. He gently cleaned House off and then himself, dropped the towel by the bed, and crawled back onto the bed next to House.

“Much better,” House murmured, kissing Wilson again.

***

They were in the cafeteria, eating lunch calmly. Wilson’s gaze kept sliding to House’s wrists, this time festooned with soft, bracelet-like cuffs that served no purpose but to remind them both exactly who House submitted to. They were a sky-blue that matched House’s eyes perfectly.

Chase and Cameron walked up with their lunches.

“Figure it all out?” Chase asked with a slight smirk.

“The diagrams were particularly helpful,” House answered blandly, swiping one of Wilson’s french fries. 

“What are you talking about?” Cameron asked, feeling entirely left out.

Wilson hid a growing smile.

Chase’s gaze fell on House’s wrists and he smiled broadly. “I see you’ve really done your research this time. They look good.”

“What?” Cameron asked, looking at House’s wrists, too. “You’re wearing bracelets.”

“Cuffs, actually,” Chase supplied. 

“What?” Cameron asked. “What are those?”

“Mark of ownership,” House winked. “Lost myself to Wilson in a bet.”

Cameron flushed red as Wilson kissed House’s fingers warmly. She turned to Chase and asked indignantly, “Did you know about this?”

“Better. I gave them advice,” Chase winked, jumping out of the way of Cameron’s falling tray.


End file.
